Nonfiction | March 01, 1992
Go Slowly and You Arrive
This essay is not currently available online.
My first morning in India. I wake up at dawn and take a motor rickshaw to Old Delhi: just any street in Old Delhi, I tell the driver. It is as if I walk through familiar photographs and movies: men wash themselves at pumps, brush their teeth with sticks, sleep on rope beds; women prepare tea on open fires, sweeping a little space in front of doors; children run about; the continuous movement of people around carts past cows between rickshaws, seemingly without beginning and without end, contained only by two- and three-storey buildings of ground-level shops, upper-level living quarters and storage areas.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
Dec 11 2020
Magnet Man I shift from foot to foot. Both my feet hurt. I’m packing magnets at my dad’s factory, and the rubber mats meant to cushion my joints from the
Sep 29 2020
On Hearing/On Listening
I play the tenor sax, and at sixty-five, I’m usually the youngest in this band. We play the oldest of old standards—very little from after the War, plus novelty tunes,
Sep 28 2020
In Noise, Feeling
I sat in a chair, the legs of my jeans pulled up to my knees, as a neurologist poked my leg with a pin. “Can you feel that?” he asked